I Don't Need To Be Saved
by cmjm108
Summary: Bella is in an abusive relationship with her boyfriend, James. Edward moves to her school and tries to help her, but what if she doesn't want help? B/E
1. Answer Back

**A/N. Hi everyone. This is my first fanfic so please review and stuff to let me know how I'm doing and how I can improve. The story is basically as it says in the summary. Don't expect Edward to come too soon, though, as I want you to get to know Bella first.**

**ALL CHARACTERS, ETC, BELONG TO STEPHANIE MEYER. I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.**

**Chapter 1: Answer Back**

Staring in the mirror, I held my breath as I attempted to staunch the bleeding. Regardless of the amount of times I was forced to take care of these wounds, the smell of blood still made me nauseous and dizzy. I heard the front door slam downstairs, and only then could I rinse the cloth now saturated with blood. As I brought the now dripping cloth back up to my face, the world's edges turned black and the room began to spin. Disorientated, I placed my palm on the cool face of the tiled wall. It left a crimson handprint. This then disappeared as my vision failed, and I collapsed to the floor as the darkness engulfed the familiar scene.

Waking up, I gradually became aware of the cold, hard tiles pressing into my spine and my new bruises. As experience had taught me, I kept my eyes closed and breathing even while I investigated my surroundings and tried to remember what happened. From the tiles on my back I knew that I was laying face up on the bathroom floor, and I realised that my feet were facing the door, as I could feel the surface of the bath with my left hand. This meant that the sink was on my right. Then as that reasoning passed, I remembered with a jolt what I was doing in the bathroom. The house seemed quiet, so I slowly opened my eyes. The ceiling spun as I blinked a couple of times, but then my vision cleared. Wincing slightly, I lifted my left hand to my face and felt the dried blood. Gently I eased myself up to sitting position, and then stood up to examine the damage in the mirror. A busted nose was not a serious injury for most people, even less to me, but that didn't mean it was painless. As for all the bruises, they were mild by James' standards. The cloth was still wet and I dabbed at the congealed blood around my nose and what remained of its earlier path down to my chin. Making sure I held my breath, I wiped my face clean, and then turned my attention to the room.

The stench of bleach was so strong in the bathroom that I made my way to my bedroom. It was exactly the way it was when I left to go to the sink: bed cover creased from being sat on, a couple of precious ornaments smashed and a now dried blood stain on the carpet. Just seeing the mess made my breathing quicken and hearing sharper as I made sure that he had gone. Crouching down, I examined a broken china doll. The tears fell unhindered as I collected the shattered pieces of my Dad's final present to me.

* * *

"_Don't cry at my funeral, darling," my Dad whispered in my ear as I wept beside the hospital gurney._

"_Dad, you know I will. Who ever heard of a girl who didn't cry at her own father's funeral?" But by saying that word – funeral – the fragile barriers I had built whilst visiting him for the final time collapsed into ruins, and my sobs escaped. _

_He hugged me closer as his eyes watered as well. I still don't know if he knew that I realised that he was weeping whilst cradling my head against his chest, but I never let on. He had been so strong, so dependable, always the parent I would turn to when I needed help or advice. The cancer, though, had made him an invalid, a prisoner in his own body, and now he was in the final stages of a slow and very painful death. Nobody knew that it was killing a part of me as well._

"_Shh," he breathed, but it made him choke and cough loudly. This in turn made my heart wrench. The nurse checked on him, but he signalled for her to leave us a minute. He pressed the doll into my hands as my sobs gradually died down. "Just promise me you will do what you have the potential to do. Aim high. Try hard with everything, don't repeat my mistakes."_

_He smiled weakly as I nodded into his chest. "Hey, you'll always be my little girl, you know that. Everything's going to be okay, honey. Everything will be okay."_

_Even then I knew that it was a lie. _

* * *

His words reverberated around the hollow room as I cleared up the mess. _"You'll always be my little girl."_ That's what James sometimes called me: his girl, his bird. I hated those words. They were so derogatory, as if I was a pet. His pet. But I would never, ever belong to him. Soon I would escape; as soon as I leave for college, I can escape from his clutches. I have my future all planned out; all I have to do is study hard enough and the dreams will come true. My father's final wish will become a reality.

My eyes swam with tears as I dropped the individual pieces of each ornament into the bin. I tried to reason with myself, to pull myself together: it isn't the presents that are important, it's the memories. And they are out of his reach.

A car pulled up in the drive, and I felt my heartbeat spike until a peek through my window told me it was Renee, my Mom. Quickly I dried my eyes, took a last glance around my room and checked my cover-up in the mirror. Last night's bruise, now turning a yellow colour, didn't show above my left eye. My nose, now free from blood, just looked a bit swollen. I could laugh it off: I had played volleyball in gym today, and it was easy to get a whack on the nose by the ball. Well, it was for me anyway. I plastered my fake smile onto my face as I descended the stairs.

It was just trivial chat over dinner. I managed to avoid the subject of James, just telling her that I got hit by the ball.

"Aw sweetie, you need to be more careful." she had said. It was just me who knew how true that was: never again would I answer back to James.

* * *

_I was studying at my desk, and he was flicking through my favourite book, Wuthering Heights. _

"_Come on," he had wined, "Your place is so boring. Let's go back to mine, we can do so much more." But I had known that my house wasn't boring, we were simply expecting Renee back from work any minute. And the only thing we would be doing at his place would involve a guilt trip and pressuring me into things that I didn't feel ready for. That was all that ever happened at his place; it always ended in an argument, and you don't argue with James without consequences._

"_No, I can't James. I have a biology test tomorrow." I replied, looking up from my notes._

"_What did you just say to me?"_

_I took a deep breath: I knew what was coming, but I also knew I had to study. I needed this biology grade. "I said, no, James. I need to study." I dropped my gaze back to the papers in front of me. I didn't see him get off the bed._

_He grabbed my hair and pulled it so I was forced to get to my feet and face him. Yanking my head back even further, he leant his head close to mine. "Never. Answer. Me. Back. Again. Isabella. Is that clear?!" His breath was warm and he spat on my cheek when he yelled. I screwed my eyes up as the pain became too much: I had promised myself a long time ago that he would never make me plead, or beg. He would never see me cry. "Answer me you bitch! Is that clear?"_

_He let go of my hair and grabbed the tops of my arms instead. I could feel the bruises forming already: individual hand marks with recognisable finger shadows. But still, I blocked out the pain. I opened my eyes and craned my neck so I could look him in the eye. "Yes that's clear. I got it, thanks."_

_Then the next thing I felt was his fist collide with my nose. I felt the blood drip and the fire start in my face, but I remained quiet and still stared him in the eyes. Obviously he had heard the sarcasm. "You'll pay for that you whore. You ungrateful bitch." He reached for the nearest ornament, my china doll, and slammed it against the floor. This was preceded by a couple of others, before he swung his fist into my stomach. Winded, I dropped to my knees. Then he aimed kicks at my stomach and legs. I instinctively curled into a foetal position to attempt to protect myself from this onslaught, but still didn't utter a sound. Eventually he stopped as his phone rang. Without saying a word to me, and not before stamping on my leg one last time, he left the room to answer it. I listened for a second to make sure he had gone, and then slowly stretched my body out, wincing. Despite the searing pain, I grinned briefly: I hadn't shown him just how much he had hurt me. _

_As I dragged myself to the bathroom though, the tears very nearly overflowed. I love James. I always had done, from the moment I saw him in eighth grade. When I was new and scared, he was the only person who talked to me. He was friendly and funny. How had he changed so dramatically? Who the hell is he now?_

**A/N. Thanks for reading, hope you like it. Please review to say whether you think it's worth carrying on with or not. :D**


	2. Saved By The Bell

**A/N Hi, thanks to those people who put this story on story alert, etc, but PLEASE can you review. I want to know ways in which I can improve my story, as well as any ideas for what you want to happen. Enjoy this chapter, though :D**

**Chapter 2:**** Saved By The Bell**

Feeling excited and nervous, I woke up with slight butterflies in my stomach. I glanced at the luminous digits on the clock: 4.57. I was half an hour earlier than my alarm, but I was reluctant to go back to sleep. That would mean that it would be so much harder to rise when my alarm went off. So, I shrugged off my quilt and stood up on the soft carpet. Silently I stretched, then immediately recoiled when I felt the effects of James' previous night's effort on me. I glanced at my arms and felt a lump rise in my throat at the sight of the obvious handprint-shaped bruises. They would be hard to cover up, and I had gym today. Damn.

By the time I had got changed, washed and covered up all the marks, my clock showed 5.45. The butterflies I had woken up with – a reaction to finding out my biology result in class later on – had been replaced by a feeling of hopelessness, and as much as I tried to persuade myself that I shouldn't be scared, I was. Every time I saw James there was a danger. Even at school, I wasn't completely safe from him. The other kids and the teachers were so wrapped up in their own worlds that they either don't know I exist, completely hate me or are just so used to me being 'perfect' that they needn't bother about me. In the tenth grade, the teachers just let you be if you can do the work. They expect it from me, so they don't even try to help.

However that was how I usually liked it. In regard to the school work, I didn't need any help. They give me the work and I do it. I don't have any problems that they can attempt to solve. In that aspect of my life, anyway.

James always knocks on the door at half seven, the reason for my early alarm. I have to finish my make up before he arrives, otherwise he gets physical. Again. Every single morning without fail, as soon as Renee's Chevy leaves the driveway, his Ford replaces it. As reliable as clockwork, his knock reverberates through the house and my stomach sinks. He lets himself in, dumps his school bag at the foot of the stairs and yells for me. This morning was no different. I was in my bedroom tying my hair back when he barged through the door. His eyes skimmed my face and visible skin, looking for any visible bruises or cuts. He smiled widely; the trait that I didn't see enough and the one trait that made me fall for him in the first place. But funnily enough my anxiety hardly declined at this sight, it simply loosened the knot at the base of my stomach. He was satisfied with my make-up, and none of the offending marks showed, but still his smile made me worry: he hardly ever smiled at me any more.

"Morning babe." I gave him my best attempt at a smile and said hi. "Did you finish that English essay last night?" he asked me, and his smile vanished. The essay, which had been assigned that day and wasn't due in for two weeks, was the excuse I had given not to go to his house last night. It was a conversation that had, predictably, ended in an argument. And arguments always ended badly for me.

"Yeah," I responded softly, not wanting a repeat of last night. James never understood why I wanted to get any homework out of the way as soon as possible; he was more of a last-minute kind of guy. "I finished it." I repeated louder when he didn't respond.

"That's good." he finally whispered. "That means that you can come over to mine tonight." My stomach sank at his words. There was no doubt about whether I wanted to go, but if he mentioned it this early then there was also no doubt that he wouldn't take an excuse. "Don't worry, we're gonna have a lot of fun."

"Um, I guess I can make it, unless we get some work -"

"No babe, you can make it even if you do get some work to do. It won't take all night; I'll have you back before your curfew." He ended his interruption on a mocking note. Renee had set a curfew of half eight a couple of years ago, and then by the time it could have done with updating, I was already dreading the time I spent with James, so I never had any inclination to negotiate with her again. It still stood at 8.30.

I nodded at him, and seeming relieved at his victory, he relaxed and kissed me for the first time that morning. It was slow and passionate, very different from his normal ones. I relaxed a little bit: what would happen this afternoon was the least of my worries, the biology results were my more immediate problem. He ended the kiss and drove us both to school. Just like every single morning.

* * *

The bell rang for lunch at twelve. I packed my French books into my bag then left the room, last as always. Lunch, though, didn't strictly happen for me. I never ate at school. In fact, I never ate in front of James. He used to pinch at my waist a couple of months ago, not actually calling me fat, but suggesting it. He didn't need to say the words though. Regardless of the fact that I was about average size, I began to believe him. He said things when I ate, so I stopped. Eventually the comments stopped as well, but not until I lost about 5 pounds. Not until he was happy with my figure.

So instead of heading to the cafeteria, I battled against the tide of students and took refuge in the library. The librarian smiled at me as I entered, a toothless old man that everybody called 'The Perv', and for a good reason too. There were all sorts of rumours about him – some involving pupils, others various farm animals – and he was one of the reasons why people gave the library a wide berth. I wasn't as bothered by him as the others though: there wasn't anything that he could do to me that James hadn't already done.

I had set out my books and started my notes, my usual routine, when I felt a hand touch my left shoulder. Startled, I glanced upwards and saw Mr Jenkins, the librarian, peering over my shoulder. He had a sadistic smile plastered over his ugly face, and I struggled to get a grip of myself. My heart rate had gone through the roof and my breathing was following suit. As much as I tried to kid myself I wasn't scared of him, he did creep me out. I swallowed. "Yes?" I asked him, looking back at the table and pretending to read through my notes. "Can I help you?"

"I was simply wondering why you spend so much of your time here." His thick welsh accent was difficult to interpret, but I knew where this conversation was headed. I had been with James too long to have not had this exact conversation with him. He was worried people would talk and suggest reasons why she wasn't sitting with him in the cafeteria. I glanced up at Jenkins, just about managing to arrange a puzzled expression on my face. "Pretty girl like you, I'd have thought you'd have been with your boyfriend."

"I – um – I need to catch up." That was the story James had told me to tell anyone who asked. "I'm going to fail French if I don't put some extra work in."

"Ah." He didn't sound convinced. "And the same goes for chemistry, biology and every other subject that I see you working on I suppose."

"Um…" I couldn't think. Why on earth was he interested? It was well known around school that I was top of every class, and it was probably common knowledge to him, too. Lies wouldn't work. So I focussed on something else to try and change the subject. "Why do you see what I'm doing? Do you watch me?"

It was his turn to blush now. "Um, well, I was, er, I was – "

"You were _what_?"I started for the second time as I felt another hand grip my other shoulder. I glanced upwards to be met with James' familiar features staring into Jenkins' face. Relief flooded my entire being. He asked the librarian again. "You were doing what? Why were you watching my girlfriend?"

The old man said nothing but let go of my shoulder. James gripped my right twice as hard and I stood up, wincing. He let go as well, and began stuffing my books back into my bag. My fear began to return. I knew this James. I knew how I usually ended up when he got like this. And it wasn't good.

"C'mon Bella," he said when he had finished with my bag. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it – hard – before dragging me out of the room. I took a last glance at Mr Jenkins who met my gaze; then I dropped it when I felt James' eyes on me.

It was raining. James dragged me to the sports fields, which were deserted and out of the way from the rest of the school. "What the hell were you doing?!" This was it: the rage that I knew had been boiling since he saw me talking to Jenkins. "Why were you having a conversation with that _perv_?"

"I wasn't James, I swear." There was no way out of this, but that didn't mean I couldn't fight I little bit. "Anyway, so what if I was?"

His grip on my arm strengthened at my answer, but I steadily held eye-contact with him. "You – will – NEVER – speak to him again. Do you understand me?" I understood all right, but I didn't reply. His right fist swung at my face, but moments before impact, the warning bell for next lesson rang out. I unscrewed my eyes that I didn't even remember closing, just in time to see his muscular arm drop. He leant in, and spat in my face. "This isn't over bitch. I'll pick you up from your form room. See you later." I gulped, certain that later was something I really didn't want to see.

But life went on. I grabbed my bag that James had dumped in the mud and trudged to my next lesson: biology, wiping my face as I went. The rain fell around me as the tears fell from my eyes. And to think this morning, I had woken up excited. How things change.

**Okay, thanks for reading. Now please review - tell me what you think, give me some feedback. :D**


	3. Don't Stop The Rain

**Chapter 3: ****Don't Stop The Rain**

The remainder of the afternoon flew by. We got our results back in Biology: 98%. Mr Nesbitt was his usual cheery self and didn't seem to notice that his favourite pupil sitting in front of him was actually a million miles away. I was simply going through the motions of chatting to him like I normally do, when in reality my thoughts were with James, wondering how bad tonight could really be. Last night was bad enough; he hardly ever made it two severe beatings in a row.

"Bella? What do you think?" Nesbitt directed the question at me.

"Um, well…" my heart sunk as I realised I hadn't been paying attention for the past couple of minutes.

"Well did you think it was difficult enough or not?" Oh, ok, I should have guessed. After every exam he asks the class whether it was too difficult. The answers always varied, but mine never wavered. How could it, when my results were permanently top?

"Er, yeah I guess it was. I found a couple of questions quite tricky."

"Ok, well for homework I want you to redo the answers you got wrong. Including the ones you just dropped one mark in. For next lesson, please."

Great, I had received homework from every lesson so far. Not that this piece would take long at all – I had simply balanced the symbol equation for photosynthesis incorrectly. I'd be writing for 10 minutes at the very most. But when I added that to a geography case study, a product evaluation in technology, a history essay and the fact that I would be at James' all evening, it meant a very late night. That was if I could work after he had finished with me …

The bell rung at the end of gym and everybody parted ways towards their form rooms, laughing and joking: happy it was the end of the school day. Without speaking to anyone, I walked slowly to my room. I vaguely heard Angela say something, but I didn't turn round. Someone wished me a good evening but I couldn't place the voice. Neither could I feel my legs or gain some control over them. Step after step they took automatically; my mind thinking that I would be better skipping afternoon registration and just catching a ride with Jessica, but my legs took me there regardless. I took no part in the chaos in the corridors, simply allowing my body to be knocked by the tide.

Mrs Park took the register then wished us a good evening. I took my time putting my jacket on, concentrating on the sound of the raindrops hitting the windows by my desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was oddly comforting; the familiar call of the outside.

"James is outside Bella." Mrs Park's voice brought me out of my reverie; I realised that I had long since finished putting my jacket on and I was now only staring at the window. "He's been waiting a couple of minutes."

I turned to look at her, forcing a smile onto my face. "Thanks Miss." I still hadn't so much as glanced at James yet, my eyes boring a hole in my form tutor's desk. "Have a good night."

"You okay Bella?" I lifted my gaze to look at her face, which held an expression of concern mixed in with curiosity. "Do you feel all right?"

All right? I couldn't even remember what that felt like. Had I ever felt like that? To have no worries of school, of home, of being hit just because you said or thought the wrong thing? No. I can't remember feeling all right.

"Yeah, I'm fine thanks. See you tomorrow." I turned my back on her and walked out the door, keeping my gaze on the floor. I felt his hand in mine before I saw him.

"Hey babe. Good day?" He sounded happy, which confused me. Whenever we had an argument at school he was in a black mood for the remainder of the day. "Hey, you gonna answer? How was your day?"

"Okay I guess. Gym was a nightmare like always. Badminton today, and I think Mike lost a few brain cells from being on a team with me."

"Mike? That Newton kid? Well that's no loss; he was as thick as two short planks before anyway."

"He's my friend James. Please don't say that."

"Friend? No, he isn't Bella." He broke his grip as he opened the car door and shoved me onto the seat. Slamming it behind him, he walked round and climbed in his side. "Don't you get it Bella? You don't have any friends. You don't have anyone but me. That's what I'm showing you tonight."

I felt terror rise in my throat at his words. What did he have planned? What did he mean? "Um…" I wondered if I had the courage to say it, but then I realised: he has already planned it all out. It didn't matter what I said or didn't say now, it wouldn't change anything. "Um…You're wrong James. I have friends; I have other people other than you."

"Really? You think so?" I glanced into his eyes. They were focussed on the road but they were narrowed. There was a glint in them both. "Why then, may I ask, does your inbox contain texts from me, me and only me? When are you going to learn Bella, that I am always right? When are you going to value what you have? You're so rude to me. I love you, whether you feel the same about me or not. You get love from me, and still you're more interested in Mike Newton. He only pretends to like you Bella. Do you not see him, Lauren, Tyler, Ben and Angela talking about you? They hate you. Your mother wishes she never had you. It's only me babes. I'm the only one."

I tried to prevent the tears from leaking from my eyes as his rant continued on and on. It wasn't true, was it? It all had to be nonsense. Of course my mother loved me, and my friends would never say anything behind my back. He was only saying it to rattle me, to make me depend on him. "I know none of that is true. Just shut up James. Shut up now."

"What? Of course it's true baby. Would I ever lie to you? Do you not think I love you? How would I put up with your pathetic little mind if I didn't?"

Saying nothing, I turned my head away. I followed the patterns of the raindrops of the window; they were blurred from the tears that clouded my eyes. He didn't really love me. I knew that. I didn't know why I was still here though. I was smarter than this. But I just dreaded to think about what he would do if I said enough's enough. He needed me, I thought, even if it was just to use as a punch bag.


End file.
